One Regret
by Mindy35
Summary: Jack/Liz, Jack/Other. Jack is getting married but he and his best friend have one regret.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: This chapter K.

Disclaimer: Character's are property of Tina Fey, NBC etc. Lyrics by Newton Faulkner.

Spoilers: not really

Pairing(s): Jack/Liz, Jack/Other.

Summary: She's his one regret.

* * *

I.

_"We have been friends for so long now, it's not that I've been lying, just time I told the truth._

_Strangers constantly between us, wish that they would leave us, only you and I. Just you and I._

_Come in, can you hear me? Am I even talking? There is so much that I want you to know._

_I'm counting on someday, you'll wake up and see me, but you don't want to know…"_

Rebecca adores Colleen. And Colleen adores Rebecca.

Liz isn't accustomed to the matriarch of the Donaghy brood having such a reaction to one of Jack's girlfriends. Correction: _fiancee_. Jack's fiancee. She keeps forgetting that Jack proposed. She keeps forgetting that Jack is engaged to be married, that Jack is _going _to be married. That very soon, he will be a happily married man, a newlywed. She really thinks it's going to happen this time. This time, she's pretty sure Jack is going to make it all the way to the altar with his intended.

In the past, it has not been uncommon for Liz to find herself stuck in the middle of her best friend's love life, forced to give an opinion. Most of the time, she just found it a little annoying. And a lot uncomfortable. More recently, she started to secretly resent it. She particularly didn't enjoy being present for when Colleen and Jack would bicker over his latest choice of lady. Because - whatever they did or did not say - they all knew who Colleen thought was his perfect match. And the truth is, she got a little used to being the one woman Colleen approved of. The one Jack's mom favored above all the others. She got even more used to being the one Jack needed above all others.

No one is asking her opinion now though. No one cares for it. Not Colleen. Not Jack. Certainly not Rebecca. From what Liz knows, she is not a woman who is prone to doubt or insecurity. She rarely requires advice. Like Jack, she is generally the one doling out the ideal counsel, though perhaps with a little more tact than her fiance. She doesn't seem to feel in any way uncertain in her relationship with Jack, as C.C. did when seeking her advice. She has not ambushed Liz with a terrible secret she's been withholding from him as Elisa did. And frankly, Liz is hoping she never does.

She doesn't want to be the one holding such power over Jack's fate and happiness. She never liked that. She's very happy to let that responsibility fall to someone else. Someone more steadfast, someone more confident, and more capable than many of Jack's former loves. Or herself, for that matter.

For the record, not that anyone has asked, but if they did ask for her opinion on Jack's future wife, it would not to be difficult to find nice things to say about her. Unlike Pheobe who only had to appear to annoy her. Rebecca is lovely. And lovable. Dazzlingly gorgeous with blonde, bobbed hair, generous, smiling lips and always alive brown eyes. She has an Amazonian figure, tall but nicely rounded, and relaxed in its movement. She is younger than Jack, but not obscenely so, and shares his zest for business and travel and most especially, food. She is a chef, quite a celebrated one, who proves the old adage that the best and fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. She won Jack over with her homemade chocolate pudding and he's been smitten ever since.

Liz has never seen him so happy in love. And she's seen him happy in love plenty of times. Jack has always been very good at that first blush of romance. He's very apt at indulging that initial attraction. What he is not so great at is what follows. All the real stuff, all the hard stuff, all the lasting stuff. All the romances Liz has been witness to have faded alarmingly fast - leaving Jack lonely, morose and momentarily bitter. Not that he allows himself to wallow for very long. He always seems to find some way to rationalize himself out of his heartache and get back in the proverbial game.

This romance, however, does not seem to be fading. Jack and Rebecca have known each other six months, been dating for four. And are getting married in three days. Colleen is thrilled. Jack is ecstatic. Rebecca is radiant. And Liz is the best man.

Jack asked her and she accepted - of course. Caught up in his enthusiasm, she'd had little choice. It was only afterwards that she wondered whether she really did want the gig. She'd never been a best man before. She'd never even been a bridesmaid before. And she was not that comfortable with weddings in general, let alone the fancy sort that Jack and Rebecca were planning. As this was Jack though, Liz stuck to her word, promising to do whatever she could to make her best friend's special day exactly what he hoped.

She asked him what she needed to do. And she had only three duties. Stand beside him at the ceremony. Make a speech at the reception. And not dress like a small town lesbian. Or a big city lesbian. Or really, a lesbian of any kind.

In fact, being Jack's best man apparently gave him veto power over her outfit for the event. And when he rejected every single one of her suggestions, he took it upon himself to arrange for the appropriate apparel for a woman performing the role of best man at a high society wedding. This is how she ended up in an elegant dressing room being prodded and poked by a sadistic seamstress as Jack, his mother and his future wife look on. If she had realized this was going to be a group excursion, she would never have agreed to it. But according to Jack, it was Colleen's idea to turn her fitting into a chance for them all to have lunch.

Currently, Liz's only concern is desperately trying to invent a work-related excuse that Jack won't see through so that she can return to her office and skip the planned lunch. She's never been a fan of being the third wheel. So she certainly doesn't relish the idea of being the fourth. No matter how good the scallops are meant to be. The only thing she can find to be in any way grateful about in this situation is that Rebecca and her Amazonian body are way over in the other corner of the plush, spacious dressing room, chatting to Colleen about the culinary delights of Monte Carlo or something. As long as she stays over there and no where near Liz's own reflection in the floor-length, three-sided, unforgivingly-lit mirror, she's sure she can make it through this.

She's sure, that is, until Jack comes up behind her, eying her reflection with his usual precision.

"It's too tight across her bust," he tells the seamstress. "She's usually much smaller." He glances up at her, "Or is it that time of the month, Lemon?"

Liz turns to him, mouth dropping open. "All right, that's it!" She stumbles down off the raised platform, brushing Jack's shoulder as she passes. "We're done here…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Rebecca says, shooting Jack a disapproving look as she approaches. She turns Liz around with cool, competent hands then leads her back to the mirror. "Let me take a look."

Liz tries to squirm away. "I think it's okay…actually."

Colleen approaches too, the two women drag her right up to the mirror, standing either side of her, inspecting her plain, tailored dress, the pins still sticking into her flesh. And for a brief moment, under their scrutiny and with the proximity of the mirror, Liz feels trapped. She feels like she can't breathe. She can't catch any air.

"Well, I think she looks great," Rebecca announces, rounding on her almost-husband with a gleeful grin. "What's the matter with you? She's gorgeous!"

"It's perfect," Colleen agrees, grasping Liz's shoulders and giving her a shake, making the pins prick her harder. "Best looking best man I've seen in years." She turns abruptly and grabs her bag. "Now let's eat."

"Very well..." Jack shrugs, taking his fiancee's hand and looping it over his arm. "As long as you're happy, my sweet."

He leans in to kiss her. Rebecca avoids his mouth though, kissing him instead on the nose. Probably, Liz assumes, watching in the mirror, not wanting to make out with him in front of his mom. And the elderly seamstress. And the irate nerd with the small boobs.

"Liz. Hurry up and change," Colleen orders as she follows the happy couple out. "We have reservations."

"Oh, but, Colleen-"

"No buts," Colleen turns at the door of the dressing room, giving her one last inspection. "We have to discuss your speech." The door shuts behind her before Liz can even muster an excuse.

As soon as it does, Liz slumps in her pinned dress, letting out a big breath. Silently, the seamstress comes up behind her, unzips the dress.

"You happy?" she asks in a thick accent.

Liz looks up. "I'm sorry?"

"With dress," the lady prompts, grey eyes blinking behind wire frames, "with fit. Are you happy with it? For big day?"

"Oh…" Liz smiles and nods. "Yes. Thank you. Yes, I'm happy."

The seamstress nods at her, then exits.

Liz draws in another breath.

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: still K, at this point.

Disclaimer: Character's are property of Tina Fey, NBC etc.

Spoilers: not really

Pairing(s): Jack/Liz, Jack/Other.

Summary: She's his one regret.

* * *

She has writer's block. Chronic writer's block. She hasn't had writer's block in years. Her brain is like a well-tuned instrument, churning out ideas and observations and gags on a daily basis. It's what she does. It's the only thing she is good at, the only thing she was ever good at. Putting smart, perfectly honed words into other people's mouths. Only in this case, it's her own.

She's given lots of these things though. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs, retirements, AA meetings. Whatever the occasion, people often ask her to write or say a few words. Because they know she'll make it something funny and pointed and maybe a little touching. Even if she doesn't really know the person that well. It's her one and only social asset.

Except tonight. Her one asset, her one talent, has deserted her. Tonight of all nights.

It's ridiculous. She knows Jack better than anyone. And still…she's got nothing. Not a single teasing quip or entertaining anecdote. When it comes to Jack, she's got a blank page. That's it. She's been trying to write this speech for weeks. For two weeks she's been trying to think of something sweet and amusing to say about her best friend. At first, she really wasn't that worried when the words didn't flow. She knew she could pull this off. After all, it was her job. The funny would come. It always did. Well…mostly, it did. What she ended up with though, was a bunch of crumpled up post-its and food-stained cliches – all of which she discarded the night before – but no best man speech.

There are six known and accepted stages to writer's block - truly dire writer's block. Confusion. Desperation. Resignation. Defeat. Recapitulation of all of these. And panic. Liz has now reached panic. Mind-paralyzing panic. Pete recognizes this as soon as he flings open the door of the toilet stall she is hiding in to see her bent over, scribbling madly on toilet sheets as she mumbles to herself.

"Have you got something?" he asks, hysteria lacing his tone. "_Anything_?"

Liz glares up at him darkly. He, of all people, should know better than that. The worst thing to do in the presence of someone in the throws of writer's block panic is to also be panicking. She shoves a piece of scribbled on toilet paper at him, eyes wide and desperate.

"Is this funny?" she asks.

Pete squints at it, turns the paper this way and that. "Is it English?"

She snatches it back, smooths it over her knee.

Pete shrugs. "Looks like Mandarin..."

She buries her head in her hands. "Oh, jeez. I am dead. I've got nothing…"

Pete leans down, taking her shoulders in his hands and putting on his most calming, rational voice. The one he has to use practically every day as a producer. "Listen, it's just the rehearsal dinner, Liz. It doesn't have to be Shakespeare. It doesn't even have to be Shakesprick."

She looks up. "Huh?"

"He's a comedy writer," Pete mutters, "not a very good one."

"Oh."

"You've done this before, right?"

"Right."

"Well, this time is no different."

"…Right."

"So just go out there," he says, overly encouraging, "say a few nice things about Jack and propose a toast to the bride and groom. That's all you have to do. You can do that."

She nods up at him. "Yeah…okay. Keep saying things like that."

"You know Jack," he reminds her gently, "You like Jack. You're doing this…"

She nods again. "For Jack, right." She sucks in a deep breath then abruptly rises, pushing past him in the stall. "I've got to get outta here…"

"Are you gonna hyperventilate?" Pete asks, the panic returning to his tone as he watches her gulping down oxygen.

"Maybe…" Liz paces the tile, hands on her hips, heels clicking back and forth. "Will it get me out of making this speech, d'you think?"

"I doubt it."

Just then, Jack pushes the door open, sticking his head around the corner. "Lemon. There you are. We're ready for you."

Liz paints on a smile, punching a fist in the air. "Great! I'm ready!"

Jack nods, then disappears, the door swinging closed behind him.

She rounds on Pete – panicked. "I've got nothing!"

"Well…" he murmurs, physically propelling her towards the door despite her resisting, "you better think of something between here and the table because you're up."

There is only one known cure for acute writer's block. Surrender.

And going right back to the beginning. Starting all over.

As Pete leads her back to the rehearsal dinner, Liz watches her heels sink into the deep green carpet. And for one moment, she closes her eyes, gives in completely. She thinks back. She goes right back to the beginning. Not to the first day she met Jack, or the first time she laughed at one of his dumb jokes. Not to the first time she knew she actually liked him, not even to the first time she suspected that _he_ liked _her_. But back to the first time she can remember thinking that Jack Donaghy, despite all his various failings - and by now she knew them all - was a really, really good man.

It's as this particular thought occurs to her that she looks up and realizes that she and Pete are back in the impeccably decorated banquet room at the impeccably decked-out table and there is a sea of impeccably dressed people staring at her. Including Jack, blue eyes expectant. The room – filled with members of the sizable wedding party, various close relatives of both Jack and Rebecca, as well as some work colleagues and friends who've joined in the pre-wedding party, not to mention their highly-strung wedding coordinator and her seven or so assistants - suddenly goes quiet.

Jack nods, gives her a smile.

Liz lifts a hand to adjust her glasses only to realize she isn't wearing them. Taking a breath, she mutters, "Oh boy," to herself before stepping up to the microphone and starting to speak. "Hi, everybody, hi-" the mic screeches and she pulls back, "Oh. Sorry…"

She lets out a nervous laugh, then begins falteringly, "Well…I'm…Jack's best man. And…it'll be my duty on the day to stand up here and say something cute about my good buddy Jack here." She gestures to Jack who positively beams next to his bride. She swiftly averts her eyes, deciding she should probably not look at him - or them - while she attempts to discharge her duty. "For those of you who don't know me," she continues, "I write a comedy show thing, with, um, sketches. Some of them funny, some of them, Jack tells me, not so much." She hears Jack chuckle at this. Next to her, Pete lets out a snort. "So-o…" she muses impishly, "I guess maybe some people are expecting me to get up here and make a whole bunch of jokes about the groom."

She pauses, expecting an encouraging mumble from the listening guests. What she gets is nothing. Dead air. Someone coughs. Someone else drops their fork. The photographer takes a picture. The wedding coordinator shakes her head. Apart from this, the room remains silent and still. And expectant. Liz casts a wide-eyed look at Pete who shrugs, offering no help at all.

She clears her throat, placing her fingertips on the edge of the table to steady herself. "Well. Believe me, I was gonna go that route, you know. It would be real easy to make fun of…the slicked-back hair and the obsession with Michael Buble tunes and the Groucho Marx cigars, right?" At this, there are a few amused twitters. From the corner of her eye, Liz can see Rebecca run an affectionate hand down Jack's arm. Liz ducks her head, reaches for her wineglass. "But…the thing is," she goes on, not quite knowing where she is headed, "ever since I've known Jack, he has been looking. Looking for that special lady to share his life with. And…he's had his heart broken a couple of times." She pauses, gulps. "But it never totally stopped him from believing that he would find that one person who meant the world to him. And - Jack being Jack -" she cannot help darting a quick glance in his direction, "he made me believe in that too."

She lifts her glass, raising her voice a little to announce, "So…I guess, at this point, I would like to ask everyone to please raise their glasses, to the bride and groom. May we all be lucky enough to find someone as perfect for us as Jack is for Rebecca and Rebecca is for Jack."

She watches as everyone round the room obeys, all the guests she does and does not know, all the fashionable and distinguished people follow suit. All eyes turned on the glowing couple with affectionate approval. Every single voice echoing loudly, "Jack and Rebecca."

Then as quiet chatter fills the room, she sinks back into her seat, slowly, gratefully, knees shaking.

Pete leans over, muttering over the light applause, "Perfect. But you looked green the whole time."

She nods, downing the rest of her drink, "I'm just glad I didn't hurl."

"'Course you do realize," he adds, munching on some shrimp, "you have to do it all again in a couple of days." He waves a hand, still munching. "Only way better."

She lets out a low moan. "Now I'm gonna hurl."

She looks up then, catching Jack's eye across the room. He is shaking hands with some people, looking handsome and relaxed in his favorite suit. Rebecca is in pink by his side, kissing another woman's cheek. When his eyes meet hers through the throng, he gives her a little smile that crinkles his eyes, that is almost covert in its affection. Liz smiles back.

Pete peers at her face. "Are you okay? Now you've gone pink."

Liz blows some air out through her lips. "What? It's just a little stage fright, Pete. I'm fine now."

His eyes narrow at her worriedly. "Here." He pours her another drink. "Get drunk."

"Thank you." Liz bobs her head and lifts the glass to her lips. "That is the plan."

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: Still K+

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, you know whose.

Spoilers: not really

Pairing(s): Jack/Liz, Jack/Other.

Summary: She's his one regret.

* * *

Apparently, there is a fourth duty to the best man gig. Be there when the groom freaks out. It's an assumed obligation but an important one.

Liz would do this anyway. She is probably the only person on the planet who has seen Jack Donaghy in full-blown freak out mode. As such, she is the only one who knows how to deal with him in full-blown freak out mode. And as his best man, she is contractually obligated to be there for him. Or at least, that's what he said when he phoned her at two in the morning the day of his wedding to tell her he was coming over. Normally, Liz would just talk him back to sleep, calm him down enough for them both to get some rest. But this was a special situation, an urgent case. And anyway, he hung up before she could point out that they never actually put anything in writing.

She is digging through her freezer when she hears the knock at her door. Jack walks straight in as soon as she opens it, taking the carton of ice cream and the spoon she's holding in her hand. Over the next few hours, between the two of them, they manage to consume most of the contents of her fridge. Half the pint of ice cream, two blocks of cheese and some leftover Mexican later they have verbally dissected and rehashed every one of Jack's significant relationships. And gotten absolutely nowhere.

Liz still feels like there's something he's not telling her. But then, she often feels that way with Jack. In the end, she falls asleep listening to his voice, and when she wakes, early morning light is peeking through the curtains. She is stretched out on the couch, drooling on one of her favorite throw pillows while Jack is out cold on the floor, snoring quietly, one hand on his chest, and a cushion tucked under his cheek.

She rubs her hands over her face, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. Then rolling onto her side, she reaches out a hand, prodding Jack's chest with the tips of her fingers. "Hey…Jack?"

Jack rolls onto his side, mumbling unintelligibly.

She withdraws her hand. Frowns at him. Waits a few seconds. Prods him again. And gets no response.

"Suit yourself…" she grumbles, slipping a foot to the floor, between his curled up body and the edge of the couch. She's rising to her feet when a warm hand curls round her ankle, and gives a tug. She topples, only just catching herself on the coffee table.

Jack chuckles low in his throat, sleepy eyes cracking open, glinting up at her.

"Hilarious," she mutters, making sure to kick him once as she steps over his prone body. "So mature…"

"Ow!" Jack moans, clutching his leg.

She snorts loudly, slopping her way toward the coffeepot.

"Lemon?" Jack calls after her.

She pulls the coffee filters out of the kitchen cabinet. "What?"

"I'm getting married today!" he announces, voice full of unbridled, almost boyish excitement.

Liz bobs her head sleepily. "I know!" she calls back.

Jack appears in the threshold, hair askew, dress shirt creased and partially unbuttoned. "Can I ask you something?"

"I don't wear the shorts in public," she replies defensively, "Just to bed. Okay?"

_"__Not-_" he clarifies, gaze dropping to her over-sized shorts, "about your shorts. Although they are…" he shakes his head, apparently unable at this early hour to come up with a decent slur on her sleepwear, "…something."

She snorts again, continues to make the coffee. "Ask away then."

Jack sidles closer. "Do you think…" he murmurs very slowly, "I will make a good husband?"

Liz stops what she's doing, looks over at him, then away again. A small smile curves her lips. "I do."

Jack smiles. "Honestly?"

"Honestly." Her smile increases. She reaches over to give him an encouraging arm-punch. "You're gonna do great! You're gonna have it all, Jack, you're gonna be _happy_."

Jack nods thoughtfully, shuffling closer. He picks up the coffee mug next to her TGS mug, regards it seriously. "And…it's perfectly normal to have second thoughts. Everybody gets cold feet. Right?"

He is standing a little too close, looking a little too rumpled, the morning light harsh on his lined face. The cologne he wears each day is a mere trace on his skin, and all she can smell is the real Jack, the actual man. And Liz has to take a moment to remind herself of what she is to this man. This man who is barefoot in her kitchen and in the final stages of an engagement. He is all but married, and she is his best man, his best friend.

So she opens her mouth. And tells him what she thinks he wants to hear. "It's totally normal," she says lightly. She waves a dismissive hand, "Happens to everyone."

Jack lowers his head, then seems to shake himself, straightening his spine and drawing in a breath. "Rebecca is amazing."

"She is," Liz agrees, and she's glad that she can at least say that and mean it. "She seems to love you a lot."

Jack clears his throat. And for a fleeting moment something clouds his eyes. "Yes…Yes, she does. Doesn't she?" he says, before the cloud dissipates.

Liz returns to fixing their coffee.

"And it's about time I settled down," he muses, running a hand over his unshaven jaw.

"You're not getting any younger," she tells him with a belligerent toss of her head.

Jack lets out an amused humph, leaning back against the kitchen counter. This puts him on a level with her so that when he meets her eyes it's directly. "I have only one regret."

She tilts her head at him. "What?"

Jack is silent. His eyes speak volumes though. The look he gives her is rife with concealed longing, an obscure pain, to the point that she has to look away, she can't stand to see it. Her breath catches in her throat. Because she knows - she feels in her own gut - exactly what his one regret is. He won't voice it, doesn't have to. Because it's hers too. She knows it. Too well.

Truthfully, privately, she always thought she was the only one, the only one who felt that way. She thought she was alone in seeing some vague, unfulfilled potential in their friendship. She thought, of the two of them, she was the only one who'd never completely understood that all these years, she'd been holding out some tiny little hope. Until that is, there was no longer anything left to hope for.

But now she knows. She knows the truth. It wasn't conjecture and it wasn't imagination. It wasn't some phantom inclination, born of loneliness and their mutual dysfunction. It was a fact, an actuality. One that neither of them voiced, and now never will. She was_ not_ the only one. She _is _not the only one. Between them, they have one thing in common. One silent regret. Now that she knows this though, Liz wishes she didn't. Because it's too late. Much too late. Any chance they had is long gone. Any potential that might've existed will go unfulfilled. It's got to.

Because in just over four hours, Jack is getting married.

_TBC…_


	4. Chapter 4

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Characters are property of Tina Fey etc.

Spoilers: not really

Pairing(s): Jack/Liz, Jack/Other.

Summary: She's his one regret.

* * *

Her dress is too tight on her boobs. Jack was right. Not about it being her time of the month, but about the fit. She's popping out the top of it. Not badly, but enough to make her self-conscious. Apart from this, the dress Jack chose for her is perfect. It's classy and comfortable and exactly her style. And the lavender color will match perfectly with Jack's tie, which she supposes was the whole idea. She would never have thought of that. But Jack did. Because lavender is one of Rebecca's favorite flowers.

Liz is adjusting the top of her dress, trying to tug it up over herself when Jack comes in from the other room of the little suite they are inhabiting in the church chambers during the lead up to his wedding. He ignores her fidgeting with her dress, holding out both hands, palms up.

"Would you mind?"

"'Course…" she smiles, taking the cufflinks from one of his hands, "That's what I'm here for."

She's rather relieved to have something to focus on other than his face, his eyes. It's been a little awkward. Since that morning. In her kitchen. Not that they've discussed it. They've barely spoken since actually. They've haven't had time. Also, Jack is giving off a weird vibe that she hopes is just pre-wedding jitters. She hopes everything is fine, everything will be fine. Because she wants more than anything for everything to be fine between them, and for Jack to be happy.

So maybe the awkward vibe is down to her. Maybe she's trying a bit too hard. Maybe she's not real good at this wedding stuff. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this gig. After all, it's probably tradition for the best man and the groom to hang out before the ceremony, get dressed and ready together, bond a little, revisit the groom's single life. They've done the last part already. But the getting dressed part has been…weird. Of course, most best men are the same gender as the groom, so maybe that's why. Also, most best men probably do not have feelings for the groom. Though who really knows, this is New York City.

But she admits it. To herself, at the very least. She has feelings for Jack. Strange feelings. Romantic feelings. Stomach-churning feelings. She always has had them. From the moment he mouthed, _You're welcome_ to her from a closing elevator. That's the earliest she can identify their stealthy presence. And possibly it should not have taken her this long to really see it. But she only realized this, gave in to it today. The day Jack is meant to be married. The day he _will_ be married. No matter what the two of them might privately regret.

After all, she and Jack have known each other for years. They aren't star-crossed lovers. It wasn't like they never had the opportunity. They did. They just didn't take it. And just because they have something great as friends, it doesn't mean it should've been more. Just because both of them at some point wished for more, it doesn't automatically follow that it would've been a good idea or it would've worked out. Or that _they_ were meant to be any more that he and Rebecca were meant to be.

Rebecca is the one he fell for. Rebecca is the one he asked. Rebecca is the one who said yes to loving Jack and marrying him and making him happy. Liz never got a chance to say or do, or even consider saying or doing any of those things. Maybe if she'd been a little braver or smarter or quicker she might've. Or…maybe not. Who knew? There wasn't any point in wondering, or wishing, and there was no way to go back now and change it.

This is the way it happened, the way things turned out. Maybe it's the way it would always have turned out. Maybe Jack and Rebecca are meant to be one thing, and she and Jack are just meant to be something else. Something different. Something…less. And this, whatever it is – and she's kinda hoping it's just a mid-life crisis of some sort - is something she will just get over, in time. She has to, and she has before, so she will again.

But it still makes Liz hyper aware of the fact that Jack's hands are both millimeters from her breasts, fingers curled up as she fixes the silver cufflinks to his sleeves. And that he can probably see her boobs spilling over a bit every time she breathes. Which is heavier because of how close he is and how nice he smells. And how everything is going to be different from this day forward.

She gives his hand a little tap when she is done. "There you go."

"Thank you," he says then takes a small jewellery box out of his pocket and hands it to her with no fanfare at all. "And these are for you." He turns to the mirror, tugging on his shirtsleeves and adjusting his tie as she opens the little box.

Inside, two sparkling studs are nestled side by side.

"Are these…?"

"Diamonds," Jack replies, "of course. Not the best clarity but they belonged to my grandmother."

She looks up at him, lips parted. "Jack. These…should stay in the family."

He smiles mildly, sending her a sideways glance. "They're on loan. Colleen wanted you to have them. For the wedding. Put them on."

She hesitates before stepping up to the mirror, beside Jack. Her elbow brushes his as she removes the pearl earrings she put on and slides the two delicate diamonds into place. Her eyes meet his in the mirror. Jack smiles his approval. Then he surprises her by turning, deliberately moving in and wrapping her up in a hug. Despite her surprise, her arms naturally lift, hugging him back. She is further surprised when he doesn't pull back immediately, doesn't mumble a joke into her hair. His hands rest on the small of her back as she feels him draw in a breath, hold her tight. And Liz finds herself wondering if this is Jack's way of saying thank you – for being there, for being his best man. Or whether it's his way of wordlessly saying a sort of goodbye.

Colleen's voice startles them apart. "Oh my, I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," Jack replies then strides over to kiss her cheek. "Good morning Mother."

Liz smiles, dipping her head. "Good morning, Mrs Donaghy."

Colleen humphs, casting a blatantly suspicious look at each of them. She runs a critical eye over her son's attire as she addresses him. "Jack, Father Peter has arrived. He wants to see you before the ceremony."

He turns to leave. "Thank you."

"And-" she adds sharply before he goes, "I'm told Rebecca just left. She's on her way."

Jack nods silently. But his eyes slip past his mother to Liz, gaze accidentally colliding with hers. "Good…thank you," he says again, ducking his head as he leaves the little room.

Colleen turns to face Liz, throwing her beaded purse down on a nearby chair. "You look lovely, Liz," she remarks with barely a trace of praise in the statement.

"Oh, thank you, Colleen," she replies, shifting on the spot. "You look very nice too."

Colleen hums, narrowing her eyes at her chest. "Jack was right about the bust."

Liz grimaces, covering her boobs with both hands. "I know. Is it really bad?"

Colleen casts her a look from the corners of her steely eyes. "As you are not the bride, I doubt anyone will be looking too closely."

"Well…" she turns to the mirror to adjust herself some more, "that's good, I guess."

Jack's mother moves to stand beside the mirror. "Are you in love with my son?"

Liz pauses in shock. And swallows. "…What?"

"Because if you are," she says with a wave of her bony fingers, "I am here to tell you that I have a very big mouth."

"I know that," Liz assures her before she can stop herself.

Colleen's eyes widen a moment before she chuckles.

"I'm so sorry," Liz fumbles, "What I mean is-"

"Are you in love," she asks again, voice almost soft, "with Jack?"

Liz opens her mouth, draws in a breath and holds it.

Colleen lifts her brows expectantly. "A simple yes or no will suffice."

Liz is quiet. Because feelings are one thing, feelings are fleeting. Love. That's…another thing.

She wants to just say no. The way she always has. And it only then strikes her as odd how often people have assumed that about her, about them. It would be so simple to say no, so uncomplicated. To say uh-uh, negative, no sir. Never have been, never will be. And what a ridiculous thought! She's been saying it for years, believing it for years. She can almost hear the automatic denial come out of her mouth, the safety of it, the familiarity of it. She can almost believe it. And yet another part of her wants wildly to break out and say yes. To scream it. To release it. As if saying it out loud, hearing it spoken, having it out there might somehow allow her to finally understand whether it's true or not.

What Liz actually says is, "I don't know."

Which is also true. Or as true as she is willing to get. Especially with Jack's mom.

"Why?" Liz asks her, wincing.

She does not want to hear that it's obvious, that everyone can tell she is, if she is. That she knows. Or that Jack knows. Or that Rebecca knows. That the whole congregation is gonna see it when she's standing up there next to him.

Colleen takes a breath and replies in a resounding tone, "If any persons here present know any just cause why these two should not joined in holy matrimony-"

Liz's eyes widen in terror. "No!"

"May they speak now-"

"Hold your peace!" Liz interrupts frantically, "_Please, Colleen_, hold your peace!"

"I thought you'd say that," she muses, distinctly unimpressed. "And it's not that I don't like Rebecca-" she pauses mid-thought to check her lipstick in the mirror, "It's just that I don't see her making Jackie happy. Not long-term. Do you?"

"Um…" Liz bows her head, more uncomfortable than any time she can remember in her life. Which is really, _really_ uncomfortable. She raises a hand to one of the diamonds studs. "I wanted to thank you for the earrings."

"They were my mother's."

"I know."

"She won them in a poker game."

Liz laughs slightly. "You're kidding?"

"Believe me," Colleen tells her dryly, "if I'd had any idea what they were worth I would've hocked them years ago for food money."

"Well, thank you," she says again with a little smile, "it's very generous."

"Don't thank me," she mutters, heading for the door. "It was Jackie who wanted you to have them." She turns back, one hand on the doorknob and one eyebrow arched. "My son loves you very much," Colleen tells her, tone short and matter-of-fact, "…in case you were wondering." She walks out, only to march back in a second later to retrieve her purse. "But you definitely don't want me to-" she jabs a finger towards the church entrance.

Liz nods and shakes her head both at once. "_Definitely_."

"You're sure?" she asks, "I've brought more than one wedding to an abrupt halt, you know."

"Yes," Liz tells her firmly. "No interruptions. _Please_, Colleen. I beg you."

Colleen straightens in the doorway, regarding her for a moment with piercing blue eyes. "In that case, I'm not sure you deserve him." With which, she swings the door shut behind her.

Outside, Liz can hear the music start to play.

_END PART ONE._

_A/N: I am going to leave this story here and direct anyone reading to mindymakru dot livejournal dot com to read the four final chapters (which involve some adult content). Please contact me if there are any problems finding these. _


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